Against the Clock
by truegleek
Summary: Sam is secretly in love with Mercedes, one of his best friends, who seems to be oblivious to his feelings. Working together in a music shop on the verge of shutting down, along with a handful of social misfits, a series of events will force him to make a decision to confess once and for all. It's just a matter of when.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

The sound of a car horn outside let her know Santana was there seconds before Alton Jones' voice boomed throughout the house.

"Mercedes! Tana's here!"

The petite young woman with brown curls flying behind her appeared at the front door in a flash. "Thanks, Daddy. I'll see you later!" she said hurriedly, opening the door.

"You tell her to ring the doorbell next time. She knows we don't do that horn blowing around here," he said with a smile that contradicted his warning tone, waving to the dark-haired girl parked on the street.

His daughter rolled her eyes with an exasperated smile. "She knows, but we're running late!" Mercedes went on her tiptoes to give her father a kiss on the cheek before grabbing her messenger bag and running outside where Santana was waiting in her hand-me-down black convertible. "I think you do that on purpose," she said, sitting in the passenger seat.

"Do what?" Santana asked innocently, looking over the top of her sunglasses. She blew the horn a few more times for good measure, and Mr. Jones appeared again, his broad form nearly consuming the front door frame. "Hey, Mr. Jones!" she yelled with an emphatic wave. "Sorry about the noise!"

"I thought you were running late!" he called back. They, actually Santana, really _were_ running behind schedule, and Will had already been on edge lately for whatever reason.

Mercedes shook her head at both of them. Santana was his favorite of all her friends, which was why he treated her like his fourth child. They had been friends since grade school and grew up together. They'd even decided to go to the same college. Despite their differences, they'd maintained their closeness over the years through the difficulties of adolescence and into adulthood.

After Mercedes once again insisted they needed to leave, Santana finally pulled away from the house.

"So...I've got news," she said, practically bouncing in her seat.

"What?" Mercedes asked, rummaging through her bag for her history notebook. Finals were just around the corner and she needed all the time to study that she could possibly get, especially since Global History wasn't her strongest subject. She couldn't wait for this semester to be over so she could finally take more classes for her music major.

"Uh-uh, you have to guess. I'm not really supposed to tell you."

She stopped digging, interest piqued. "Says who?"

"Says Sam."

"Ugh, he would!" Mercedes exclaimed with a laugh, making up in her mind to fuss at him later. "Just tell me!"

"No! I promised I wouldn't say anything about Bryan Ryan making an appearance at the shop." A forceful tug on her arm made the car swerve and she almost slammed on the brakes.

"SAN! Don't play with me!"

"I'm not playing and you're going to get us killed!"

"Bryan Ryan is coming to Castle Records? BRYAN. RYAN!" she all-but-screamed into the wind.

Santana laughed, focusing on the road ahead. "I don't get your obsession with him. He's hella old and hasn't had a hit since the 1980s."

"His songs are timeless. He is gorgeous. Bryan Ryan is legend," Mercedes replied dreamily, studying long forgotten.

"Whatever you say. Don't get my car seat wet from creaming your panties."

"Santana!"

The driver laughed loudly at the shocked expression on her friend's face, turning on the once chart-topping album of the arguably past-his-prime singer (that Mercedes had downloaded to her iPod), and they sang the rest of the way.

* * *

"You haven't left yet?" Quinn asked her brother, walking into the backroom of Castle Records, a spacious area that housed Will's office and still left room for his young staff to hang around without being right on top of each other.

Sam looked up from the table near the back exit, where he'd been touching up his ongoing drawing of an imagined superhero crafted directly on wood, brushing wisps of blond hair out of his eyes. "It's three?"

"I'm here, so...yeah. Didn't you get off at two?" she replied, going over to the lockers to unload her purse and ice blue scooter helmet. When she realized he hadn't answered, she looked over her shoulder to see him scribbling furiously again. "Sam!"

"What?" he asked, surprised by her firm tone.

"Why are you still here?" As soon as the words left her mouth, her facial expression went from concern to knowing. "_Oh._ Wait, let me see..." the pretty-faced blonde went over to the bulletin board where the schedule was posted. "Mmhmm. Thought so. Mercedes works today." She squinted at the paper and then looked at Sam again. "She doesn't come in until six!"

"I know, but I didn't have anywhere to go, so..."

Quinn was two years older than Sam, living a mysterious life on her own terms. She moved out right after graduating high school and had gone to college, only to drop out with just over a semester left. Their parents hadn't been thrilled, saying she was setting a bad example for her younger siblings, but they couldn't sway her.

When Sam chose to hold off on college, Quinn had been blamed for it, and had since been on the receiving end of many prickly encounters with the family. She was rarely seen around the house anymore, popping in for the occasional visit. Sam understood her choice and was thankful she hadn't shut him out, but he noticed her glow fading, though he never said anything.

"Mom and Dad finally kicked you out, too?" she asked teasingly.

"Quinn, they didn't even kick you out," he said just loud enough for her to hear.

"Might as well have," she mumbled.

The door swung open and in walked another blonde, the bottom layer of her hair dyed pink. She was giggling at God-knows-what because she was completely alone.

"Hey Britt," Quinn said, shutting her locker and officially clocking in at the tiny machine by the door.

"Evans siblings, heeeyyyyy!" Brittany replied with an overdramatic wave. "I brought brownies if you guys want some."

"What kind of brownies?" Sam asked slowly.

"The good kind, duh." They knew what that meant.

"No thanks," Quinn said with a flip of her hand, walking out to the sales floor.

"Don't let Will catch you with those," Sam said with a smirk, resuming his drawing.

"Please. He doesn't even like chocolate. He's so weird," Brittany replied, laughing again.

It wasn't the chocolate he didn't like. It was that Brittany and Sugar liked to bring in treats laced with "special ingredients" that made them giggly and hungry. As a welcome to the team, new employees weren't directed away from the treats if they were interested. Something about questioning the meaning of seemingly inconsequential things and a case of the munchies just brought people together.

"Put them away, Brittany," Will said sternly, coming out of his office, set off to the side and equidistant from the lockers and where Sam was seated. Will Schuester was a generally mild-mannered man with unruly curls and the manager of Castle Records. Once part of a fairly successful band in the early nineties, he settled down and decided to take the record store off the hands of one of his buddies. Most of the employees of the music shop were between eighteen and twenty-seven, and through a common love for music, he'd become like a mentor to them, helping them out when they needed. Still, it didn't mean he was taking any shit. After everything was said and done, no matter how cool he was about most situations, he was still their boss. "Put them away or I'm throwing them away."

"Ugh, _fine_," Brittany pouted. "Half of the batch is clean, by the way." She snorted. "I just don't know which."

Sam chuckled, shaking his head. Will was on his way out of the backroom when he noticed him at the table. "Didn't you clock out already?" the manager asked.

"Yeah, I'm just waiting for Mercy."

"You know she doesn't come in until this evening, right?" At that moment, Santana, Mercedes, and Mike came barreling into the room; talking loudly. "Consider me mistaken," he said with a grin and walked out.

Sam's eyes locked on the curvy figure of the woman he'd been dreaming about since they met in ninth grade. With the big post-laugh smile still on her face, Mercedes' head turned in Sam's direction and if it was possible, her eyes lit up even more.

"Sam!" Mercedes exclaimed, rushing to his side. "First of all," she put a hand on her hip, "I don't know why you tell Tana anything that's supposed to be a secret, and secondly, Bryan Ryan!" Her hands went from her hips to his forearm excitedly.

"Really, Santana? I couldn't have my moment of glory?" Sam asked, fully standing from his half-seated position on the chair.

"Glory tastes too good for me to pass it up," Santana returned. "Sorry, dear, but I'm not sorry! Hey Britt-Britt," she said, hugging her girlfriend from behind.

Brittany turned to give Santana a kiss. "You want a brownie before I put them in my locker?" she asked.

"Yeah, hit me. I'm gonna need it. Mercedes, you want a brownie?"

"A _special_ brownie," Sam whispered to her.

"No, I'm good!" Mercedes quickly replied, then turned back to her best guy friend. "Okay, how long have you known Bryan was coming here?"

"Technically, no one is supposed to know yet. Will told Finn last week and Finn told Puck, who told me."

"Who told Santana. Damn, no one can keep secrets here. Except me," Mercedes said with a proud bounce on her toes.

Tickling her, Sam responded, "Because you're perfect."

"I'm not perfect!" she laughed. "But I'm probably as close to it as you're gonna get," she added with a wink.

The secret admirer bit his lip to keep himself from blurting out an ill-timed confession. His drawing caught Mercedes' attention and she leaned over to get a closer look. "This is great, Sam! I didn't think it could get better. He kind of looks like you..."

"Nah, he doesn't. I'm not nearly as ripped."

Mercedes raised her eyebrows, then went behind him and squeezed his sides. "Okay, fine, you're right."

He scoffed. "What's that supposed to mean?!"

"Don't act all offended when you put yourself down first," she replied with a hair flip. "I'm kidding. You look great. Your drawing is really good. Are you going to do the whole table? You should draw our whole crew as superheroes!"

Sam smiled at her, charmed by her enthusiasm. "I just might do that."

Mike walked up just as Mercedes walked away to put some of her things away in a locker. "Tongue in your mouth, Romeo," he said, glancing over to where she'd begun chatting with Santana and Brittany. "I can't believe she doesn't know how you feel about her. It's so fucking obvious."

"Is it, Mike? Is it fucking obvious? Please tell me more," Sam joked. He wasn't entirely positive that Mercedes didn't know he was in love with her. Everyone else knew. They'd both been subjected to the teasing about when they would seal the deal already, but Mercedes always laughed it off, never giving any hint to how she felt and Sam wasn't ready to risk their friendship and subject himself to embarrassment, never mind that the feelings were starting to eat him up inside.

Until he had a clear shot and a game plan, that revelation was going to have to wait.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: Kudos to y'all for catching that this is based on _Empire Records_! I can't say that the Glee characters will fit exactly into all the character profiles from the movie as some characters' qualities will be distributed amongst a select few, but most should, which brings me to the disclaimer: **

**None of these characters belong to me, the storyline is tweaked and twisted, but borrowed, too. However, the way they express themselves from words to actions is all me and my imagination.  
**

**Enjoy!  
**

* * *

**Chapter 2  
**

Mercedes was humming Bryan Ryan's latest single "Stay with Me, Just Say Oui" to herself from the other end of the table as she read over her notes, pausing every so often to highlight a word or phrase. Sam would have normally rolled his eyes at anything having to do with the cheesy song or the singer, but hearing the notes emerge from Mercedes' register made them sound better, so he allowed it without complaint.

Will returned to the backroom and zoned in on him. "Sam, Sugar called in. Since you've already been hanging around here all day for some reason," he tilted his head to the fastidious student, "Do you want to work tonight? I have to leave around seven and I need someone to lock up."

"Yeah!" he replied, more eager than he intended, and rushed to correct himself, "Yeah, I could use the money."

Smirking, Will nodded and went back out to the store front. The fact that he even let Sugar lock up the store was almost laughable, but she was always good about it, unlike some other members of the staff.

"How's stuff at home?" Mercedes asked once they were alone again, catching his eyes. She had been there from the beginning of the Evans downward spiral into brokenness and the subsequent haphazard bandaging of relationships.

Sam shrugged. "Same. Stacy and Stevie are being groomed for greatness, my parents are hounding me about school. Quinn comes around, maybe, once a month—that's frequent for her." Knowing some of their history, Will had taken to scheduling Sam and Quinn overlapping shifts as often as he could so they'd see each other more.

"On or off with Puck?"

"I stopped keeping track," he replied with a dry chuckle.

Puck used to work at Castle Records, but quit over a year ago when he decided to go full steam ahead with his band, Hawksaw. The group had gotten highly successful on the local circuit, and they were starting into look into going bigger while they still had momentum. He and Quinn had hit it off immediately when they met at the shop, having gotten hired at the same time three years ago. Their parents hadn't been too thrilled with her spending time with the Mohawk-sporting rocker, claiming he was changing her from a polished princess to "goth chic," as they put it.

If they'd paid attention, they would have seen that Quinn always had a wilder side. The only reason they thought she was into the frou-frou was because they said so. Cutting her long blonde tresses into a choppy, messy bob had been the first strike, the changes in wardrobe—mostly additions of moto jackets and non-pastels—had been the second, and her refusal to continue to be a doormat convinced them she was a lost cause.

Sam had learned to pacify them, always ready to spout out his rehearsed five-year plan whenever they questioned his educational intentions. It had been two years since he graduated from McKinley High, and even though he told them and everyone else he was saving up money to go to the local university with his friends, the truth was that he didn't know what the fuck he was going to do. He had no interest in attending a traditional college, and after seeing how they tore Quinn apart, he was afraid to even voice the possibility of taking a different route. Exerting the power of the delay had been his best strategy of deflection.

"Hey guys!" a bubbly voice broke the intimacy of their conversation as Rachel Berry strolled in with the usual bounce in her step.

"Hey," both Sam and Mercedes said, but he noticed the dullness in her tone and gave her a look.

The relationship between Mercedes and Rachel was touch and go at best. There was an underlying level of competition that neither admitted to, but all knew was there. Rachel had a bad habit of flaunting her talents and taking things that didn't belong to her, whether it was credit or a man, and seemed to have no problem sleeping at night. Mercedes preferred the more honorable path, but sometimes felt as if Rachel was stepping all over her because she wasn't forcing attention on herself.

It was Mercedes' dream to front a band, if only for a night to see what it was like. The only person who knew about this was Sam and Santana. If Rachel found out, she'd be trying to find a way to make it happen for herself, and then give Mercedes advice on how to go about doing it like she did her a favor. She'd gone to a couple of Hawksaw rehearsals just for fun and they had jam sessions at Castle every now and then. There, she often had a chance to shine, despite Rachel, but her stage fright made it difficult to step out beyond the band members and select friends.

"Is it just us tonight?" the preppy brunette asked, peering at the schedule as she grabbed one of the lanyards bearing her name tag. "Sam, you're not on tonight. You worked this morning."

"Sugar called in, I'm covering for her."

Mercedes closed her books and began packing them up, seeing that it was 5:45. "Blaine is coming later, I think," she said as she approached the lockers close to where Rachel stood.

"Still studying, I see," she commented as Mercedes put the books away.

"Always studying. I've got a GPA to maintain or else I'll lose my scholarship."

"That's very studious of you, Mercedes. It's nice to see you working so hard."

It took everything in her to keep her face from twitching. As opposed to what? She _always_ worked hard. It was the Jones way. Give it one hundred percent, one-twenty if you could manage. She put on a strained grin, "You know the saying. Work hard, play hard."

Sam reached over Mercedes' head to grab his lanyard from one of the coat hangers and she scrunched her nose up, promptly setting Rachel on the backburner.

"Watch those pits, Evans," she said.

"What? Do I stink?" he replied, making a show of smelling himself.

"I wasn't smelling you!" Mercedes laughed.

"'Sup, peasants!" Puck exclaimed, walking through the back door, dressed in his typical attire of blue jeans and a band tee. "Is Quinn here? I saw her scooter outside."

"Up front," Sam answered, using his thumb to point to the door.

"Awesome, thanks." Without another word, the bandleader brushed past them to find her.

Mercedes turned to Sam. "So, I guess they're on?" He responded with another shrug. There was no telling.

* * *

The four—Blaine, Sam, Mercedes and Rachel—spent the majority of their shift entertaining themselves as it was a slow Tuesday night. After crowds swarmed to buy the new releases, they gradually dropped off throughout the day, and by 10:00 p.m., it was down to a customer here and there. Castle didn't close until midnight, so there was time to be wasted.

Sam drew caricatures of some of their regular customers, egged on by Mercedes, while Blaine and Rachel sang duets at the piano. Sam offered to give Mercedes a ride home in his truck after Santana left at nine, knowing there was no chance she'd go with Rachel, and Blaine had taken the bus.

Being this close to her in a confined area usually made him nervous, especially at night. Something about the clear, starry sky and the soft music on the radio put him in a romantic mood and he had to keep himself under control or else he'd scare her off by reciting sonnets in her name or something crazy like that.

"Is there a particular reason you take this road whenever we drive back after a night shift?" she inquired, looking over at him with tired brown eyes and a smile to match.

"You have a problem with spending a little more time with me or somethin'?" he asked jokingly.

Mercedes laughed softly, tilting her head down and away from him. If Sam didn't know better, he'd say she was blushing. Couldn't be. "No," she said, "It's so out of the way, I was just wondering."

"It's prettier out here, don't you think? With the lake over there and the moon and the smooth jazz on the radio," Mercedes snorted at that and he grinned, "It's a nice way to end the day."

His coworker smiled again, looking out of the passenger side window at the water that was stretched out alongside their path, expanding outward. "It is a pretty nice way to end the day," she agreed, "Smooth jazz and all."

Sam pushed his hair back off his forehead, completely missing Mercedes' eyes on him as he did so. She licked her lips and quickly averted her gaze before he looked her way again.

"Hey, Sam..." she said, drifting off as if she'd changed her mind about what she planned to say halfway through. He raised his eyebrows at her, signaling her to go on. "I, uh...I was just thinking that you're going to make someone really happy someday."

His brow furrowed. "Am I not doing that already?"

"_Besides_ me. That's understood. We're like peanut butter and jelly."

"What if I don't want to make anyone else happy?" he asked quietly.

"Impossible," Mercedes said earnestly, "You're destined to bring joy wherever you go. Believe that."

_"Could she be any more amazing and heartbreaking all at the same time?"_ Sam thought. "Right back at you, Mercy."

They were silent for the rest of the journey to Mercedes' house, shrouded by unsaid words and unscrambled feelings. It was something about the night sky full of stars that made people want to be more honest with each other and themselves, but also that much more fearful of taking the leap of faith into the unknown, risking breakage of the pretty picture they'd been enjoying so peacefully before.

As Sam watched her walk up the driveway to her front door, he wasn't sure if the regret was worth it.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

The week had been hectic and awful for Mercedes. She had three papers due and two exams on top of her homework, finals prep, and vocal coaching that she did two evenings a week. She'd also been invited out with some graduating friends and probably should have skipped, but felt guilty about doing so after cancelling with them so much already. Exhaustion had become her best friend, and the tea and coffee weren't doing the trick anymore.

There was a knock on her bedroom door, where she'd been struggling to finish a paper in the wee hours of the night, playing a mix of upbeat music to help her stay up. "Come in," she said.

Her mother, Gloria, poked her head in. "You're still up, baby?"

"I have to finish this paper. It's due in the morning."

"You really should get some sleep, Mercedes. At least an hour," Gloria suggested, opening the door wider to lean on the frame.

"If I finish this, I might still have _time_ to get some sleep," she said, unable to control the bite in her voice. Mercedes sighed, "I'm sorry, Mama. Why are you still up?"

"I heard your music playing and wanted to check on you."

"Oh," she replied, feeling bad that she'd woke her mom up, "I'll turn it down or put in my headphones. I don't have that much left to write."

"Do you want me to bring you anything? Tea?" her mother asked, forehead creasing with worry.

"No, Ma. You go back to bed. I'm okay." To reassure her, Mercedes flashed a bright smile and almost fooled herself into thinking she wasn't a makeshift pillow away from falling asleep right there at her desk. When Gloria didn't move, Mercedes insisted, "Go to sleep, Mom. For real. I'm going to finish this paper and go to bed."

"_Okay..._don't work yourself too hard. You're doing great. Your father and I are proud of you, sweets."

This time, her smile was genuine. "Thanks, Mom. I needed to hear that."

Gloria came over to her daughter, kissing her forehead. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

Once her mother left the room, shutting the door behind her; Mercedes ran her hands through her hair. She was starting to have a hard time forming a complete thought. To make matters worse, she hadn't been able to finish the reading material on which this paper was supposed to be based and had barely written two pages when she needed at least five.

There was one solution to her sleepy dilemma that she hadn't yet tried.

Mercedes looked to her nightstand, her eyes immediately drawn to the hospital bracelet lying on top of it next to her alarm clock. That was the one thing that stopped her in her tracks—exactly was it was supposed to do. It was a reminder of summer's mishap when she'd taken on way more than she could handle. Getting up from her desk, she sat on her bed and picked up the wristband delicately. That had been _months_ ago. She was better now.

Slipping the bracelet into her nightstand and out of sight, Mercedes traded it for the bottle of pills. Two would be okay. Two and that's it. No more. This paper had to be finished before her English class in three hours, and all she needed was a pick-me-up to keep her awake. She could take a nap between school and work. Going to the bathroom, she downed the red and white tablets and put the bottle in her medicine cabinet. Mercedes stared at herself in the mirror as if she would suddenly transform into an unrecognizable monster. But nothing happened. She was fine. She could handle this. Now it was time to work.

* * *

When Mercedes walked into Castle Records that afternoon, she happily greeted Rachel and Quinn, who were at the cash wrap—Quinn flipping through a magazine and Rachel pretending she wasn't trying to look over her shoulder.

"Someone's extra cheerful today," Rachel said, confusedly waving back to Mercedes.

"Yeah, don't talk to me, Hobbit," Quinn replied without a glance in her direction.

"I wasn't, Queen of the Night," Rachel snapped back.

"Just making sure," the sour-faced woman picked up her magazine, "Bitch."

With a huff, Rachel adjusted her short floral skirt as Quinn walked away, going upstairs to the second level of the store. Hearing the door of one of the sound booths slam shut, she muttered, "You're the bitch."

Finn was arguing with Will in his office when Mercedes reached the backroom. She looked over at the couch where Brittany and Sugar were sitting, watching it all unfold through the open blinds, and decided to join them.

"What's going on?" she asked, sitting down next to Sugar.

"Finn and Artie swapped shifts without telling Will. Artie was supposed to lock up tonight," the brunette quickly explained. Sugar was Brittany's other partner-in-crime, a rich and eccentric girl who they met in high school at show choir competitions. She had been at a rival school until the year they won Nationals, and then transferred because she only associated herself with winners.

On her first day, Sugar pranked the entire glee club by bringing in a batch of her "Totally Baked!" cookies that had affected them in all the wrong ways before a performance in front of the entire school. Student-baked goods were banned from the grounds for the rest of the year, which had ruined plans for the fundraiser bake sale, but since then, she and Brittany had been nearly inseparable.

Despite seeming to lack a few brain cells, Brittany was an amazing dancer with aspirations of becoming a choreographer and performing on one of those dance competition shows on television. Sugar was calling herself her manager. The pair often created dance circles out on the Castle sales floor, and were never short on fun—whether stoned or not. It was in their dispositions. Santana had even taken a liking to Sugar, referring to the party queen as her and Britt's daughter from the future.

"Last time I let you lock up, you smoked two of my cigars, drank half of my beer, and I found you here the next morning slumped over in _my_ chair, holding _my_ guitar, wearing _my_ sunglasses with money all over the desk!" Will shouted, one hand on his hip, the other gesturing wildly in Finn's direction.

"That was almost two years ago! Don't you think it's time you gave me another chance?" Finn asked.

"No, I don't." Will shrugged. "You need to get your act together, Finn."

"What act, Will? I can only be me," he snarked.

The girls watched as the store manager walked to the office door, pretending to have their own conversation as soon as it opened. "Go to work," Will said. "Sugar, Mercedes, can one of you lock up tonight?"

"Sorry, Will, I can't stay late tonight. School stuff," Mercedes said regretfully.

"I don't want to," Sugar replied bluntly.

Finn began talking again. "See! I can—" He stopped when Will held up his hand and pointed out. "Fine, but you can't run from it forever!"

"I'll cross that bridge when I get to it."

"Ladies," Finn said to them as he passed.

"Why can't you lock up, Will? Got a hot date tonight? Rawr..." Sugar asked.

He scratched the back of his head. "Something like that."

"Been having a lot of those lately. So when do we meet her?"

"Never, I hope." Before Sugar had a chance to be offended, he kept talking, "Are you still on break? It's been an hour!"

"We were counting the quarters Sam glued to the floor," Brittany piped up. Mercedes looked down. Sure enough, there were quarters placed seemingly at random all over the backroom floor. "I think he got them out of the register," she said with a snicker.

"He didn't," Will corrected her. "He was selling drawings to people for fifty cents on Saturday. He made about five bucks before I stopped him."

Mercedes smiled, a little sad that she'd missed it. Will let them get away with a lot, but no one ever tried to take advantage of his cool nature...too much. The foolish ones who did never lasted long.

"All right, lemme go call him. Sugar, get back to work. You two, clock in so Quinn and Rachel can go home," he said to Mercedes and Brittany just before going back into his office to call Sam.

Without much room to turn him down, Sam agreed to come in at eight. His family needed the money—another thing holding him back from committing to furthering his education. Going to school meant less time he could be working to help cover bills. In addition to Castle, he sometimes delivered pizzas and secretly stripped Friday and Saturday nights at a club across town. Some of the money he used for art supplies and some he put into savings so his parents didn't get suspicious about the chunk of cash he was bringing home on the weekends. Typically, when he wasn't working, he was sleeping.

Mike, his girlfriend Tina, and Mercedes were talking in front of the cash wrap when he came in. "Hey, hey, hey, guys! Why aren't you working?" he said authoritatively after grabbing his lanyard from the back.

"Shut the hell up, Sam," Mike joked, punching his arm lightly. "This store is d-e-a-d."

"We just had to kick a bunch of kids out for trying to have some make-out slash orgy party in the sound booths upstairs. Be jealous that you missed that," Mercedes said, poking him in his side.

"I _am_ jealous that I missed that!" Sam exclaimed, and then leaned down toward her. "You're in a good mood," he said in her ear. He knew she had been swamped the past several days and it had been wearing her down. They'd barely even spoken to each other outside of work, and even then, she'd been sluggish and distracted.

Mercedes tilted her head up, lips grazing his cheek, and Sam bit down on his lip as she spoke, "I'm feeling better." She'd had to skip the nap earlier and taken another two pills, saying she wouldn't take anymore, and studied for a last minute quiz before work instead.

"Mmhmm..." Tina said, sharing a knowing look with Mike.

"Whatever!" Mercedes laughed. "I can't whisper to anyone now?"

"What were you whispering about?" Tina raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms.

"Nosy! He was just checking up on me, that's all. That's what _friends_ do."

Sam chuckled even though he didn't like the way she'd stressed the word "friends," but he had no leg to stand on if he complained.

"Look, we've got company," Mike said, interrupting the moment as the same group of teenagers returned. He loudly warned them that if they started causing trouble again, they'd be banned from Castle Records indefinitely.

"I have to run," Tina said, pulling her boyfriend down for a kiss. "Test in the morning," she explained. Turning to Mercedes, she asked, "I'll see you at school tomorrow? Lunch?"

Mercedes nodded, hugging her goodbye. "You and Sam better be good," she whispered and Mercedes jerked away.

"You need to stop," she said, giggling. "I'll see you tomorrow."

Tina left the trio alone just as Finn came down the stairs. They'd completely forgotten he'd been cleaning the booths, and he was not happy.

"I thought you guys were coming to help me!"

Instead of responding, Mike, Sam, and Mercedes took off in three different directions, leaving him standing at the foot of the stairs, bucket in hand.

"Guys!" Finn yelled. They laughed in response and he furrowed his brow, already plotting his payback.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Mercedes and Tina had taken their lunch to the quad to enjoy the clear spring afternoon. The hardworking student had gotten a full night's rest the night before, and woke up giving herself a pat on the back for not turning to the bottle again.

"So, how long until the big day?" Tina asked, setting her empty food container on the bench next to her and crossing her legs.

"What big day?"

"Bryan Ryan Day!"

"Oooohhhh! Two weeks! I have it marked on my calendar and everything."

"Aw, with a big red heart?" the ebony-haired girl said, fluttering her lashes.

"And a kiss," Mercedes added, puckering up.

"Maybe you could _finally_ give it up to Bryan Ryan. That would be one hell of a first time," she paused, "Unless he's bad at it. That would be a different kind of hell. Anyway, I'm sure he hasn't got women clamoring for his washed up attention these days."

"Oh my God, you sound like Tana! What is up with you two throwing so much shade at him?" Mercedes laughed. "He's hot! He probably gets some on the regular. And how is that supposed to make _me_ feel, huh? He's desperate enough to sleep with me?" she took a sip of her mango smoothie, cocking an eyebrow at her friend.

"You know that's not what I meant. Anyone would be lucky to be with you. I mean, if I didn't have Mike..."

Mercedes cackled, nearly spitting out her drink. "Shut up!"

"Just imagine. You could be all," Tina struck a demure pose, lowering her voice into a purr, "_Oh Bry, you're so fly..._"

Throwing her head back in raucous laughter, Mercedes waved off the comment. "I just pretend that line isn't in the song."

Little did Tina know, Mercedes had been toying with the idea of trying her hand at seduction with Bryan. In fact, it had been in the back of her mind for years, but as silly teenage thoughts. She never dreamed she'd ever be in the position of actually meeting him. He was a superstar...or had been, at least. Santana had known about it from the start, and immediately made fun of her.

_"He's going to bust out some of those sexy dances moves while he's doing his thing," Santana said, providing a demonstration by grinding the corner of Mercedes' desk._

_Another day, Mercedes had promptly fallen onto her bed, screaming into the pillow for her to be quiet when she exclaimed, "You'll be singing high notes you never hit in church when he tickles those ovaries!" _

_"When you do it, can the dirty talk be the lyrics to one of his songs?" she'd said in lieu of goodbye after a long phone conversation while Mercedes was away on a family vacation._

_"BYE, Santana."_

The ridicule had died down for a while, but was regaining steam with the meet-and-greet day approaching.

"Anyway, two weeks. You should come by the store," Mercedes said to Tina.

"Oh, I'll be there!" she replied with a grin, "My _mom_ loves him."

* * *

Meanwhile, Sam and Quinn were taking their break on the loading dock behind Castle in front of the painting of Beyonce sprayed on the wall. Quinn was enjoying a cigarette while they made light conversation, but a lull gave Sam an opportunity to make an observation. "You seem different."

Quinn blew out a puff of smoke with a smirk. "Different how?"

"Like...sad. You barely smile anymore," Sam said honestly and she looked over at him, her smile faltering for a moment before she restructured it.

Quinn shrugged, brushing her bangs to the side and taking a drag. "I've never been too smiley anyway."

"That's not true, Quinn." She pursed her lips, silently asking if he was serious. "Well, not entirely true. Things at your apartment, good?"

"They're okay."

"And Puck?"

"Probably the only good thing I have going right now," Quinn said absently. She noticed Sam's frown deepen. "Sam, I'm fine. Just the same shit I've been dealing with. Nothing new. I don't need my little brother acting like a third parent."

Sam bumped her shoulder. "I'm just watching your back."

"Trying to save me from myself?" she asked humorlessly, looking out toward the street.

He rested his arms on his knees, stating simply, "If I need to."

Quinn laughed softly. "All those comics must have gone to your head." Putting out her cigarette, she flicked it into the driveway and changed the subject. "Why don't you and the twins come over tonight? We'll have take-out."

"I can't. I have to work," Sam said sadly. It was Friday night, and he had a shift at Stallions. "You should go by the house. Mom and Dad will be happy to see you—"

"I find that hard to believe," she scoffed, still refusing to look at him. Every visit to her parents' house to date had ended with an argument that forced her to leave or a conversation that one or the other didn't want to have. Quinn could have been more patient with them, but Mr. and Mrs. Evans could have been more understanding.

"It's been a while."

"Not long enough."

"One of you is going to have to bend, eventually."

"And it's not going to be me!" she barked, startling Sam.

"...you sure you're okay, sis?"

"I'm fine," she said, abruptly standing and leaving her worried sibling seated on the concrete.

* * *

His talk with Quinn was still bothering him when he went to Stallions that night, but he had to put on his game face. Sam had to pay his dues over the past year to earn the right to work only Fridays and Saturdays, and he couldn't start slipping now. Tonight, he was dressed as the postal worker and whoever he gave his prop parcel to would receive a free private lap dance.

A police officer knocked on the dressing room door. "Bachelorette party out there, guys!"

"Hell yeah!" Charlie, the lifeguard, yelled with a fist pump.

There was going to be a lucky bride-to-be that night. And if he did a good job, her friends would probably pay for a few more dances.

As soon as "White Chocolate" was announced, Sam hit the stage and immediately started scanning the room for the group as he unbuttoned his shirt to reveal the "package" held in place by the waistband of his shorts. They weren't hard to find, having worked themselves through the crowd to the front, waving money around like white flags. Sam made eye contact with the bride, a redhead wearing a sparkly tiara and a sash, and grinned wickedly at her, coaxing her forward with his index finger.

He licked his lips. "What's your name, darlin'?"

"M-M-Melanie," she stammered, giggling nervously.

Jumping down from the stage, a chorus of squeals burst forth from the other women with her as they gave him room. "Ms. Melanie, I've got something special for you, but I need you to help me out." He took her hands and placed them on his shoulders underneath the open fabric of his postman shirt. "Get me out of this first?" he requested sweetly.

Melanie's hands shook as she trailed them down his toned arms to push off his shirt. Sam caught it just before it fell to the floor and threw it back to the stage where one of the guys tossed it to the back. When he looked back at Melanie, her eyes were on his abs, and he cleared his throat.

"That's for you."

"Huh? Wha...?"

"This package is for you, but you have to take it yourself if you want it." He held out his hand in invitation and she looked around at her girlfriends, all wondering why she was taking so long. After she placed her hand lightly in his, Sam set it on his chest, giving her permission to go ahead.

Trailing a path down to the fake packing envelope, she removed the "free lap dance" voucher from his waist, and Sam took off his dark blue board shorts to reveal a smaller and tighter navy blue pair. It was then that he noticed the one girl in the group dressed in a light pink skater dress, frozen to her spot and staring at him—not like a piece of meat, but in shock. They made eye contact.

"Sam?" she mouthed.

His eyebrows scrunched in confusion as his brain made the connection. "Rachel?" he asked himself just before realization hit and he exclaimed, "RACHEL!" Grabbing her hand, he pulled her to a private room while catcalls surged from the rest of her party and Melanie looked lost.

"You work here?" Rachel asked once they were behind the curtain.

Sam looked down at himself, in nothing but a hat, shoes, and tiny shorts that suddenly had him feeling overexposed. "Obviously. Are you with the bachelorette party?"

"Yes, Melanie and I grew up together. She's like a cousin, but we aren't really related," she explained. "Does Mercedes know?"

Why would she ask that? "Wha—no, no one knows. Well, now you know, but you can't tell anyone."

"Sam, even though it's not the most respectful career, you shouldn't be ashamed of being a stripper." The pseudo-postman nearly gagged at the way her eyes raked over him.

He started pacing. "I'm not ashamed of being a stripper. It's good money—"

"Dirty money."

Sam sighed, running a hand through his hair. "All money is dirty money. Think about it. Seriously, Rachel, don't tell. I don't want to have to explain this to my parents or my little brother and sister."

He didn't even want to think about the shit storm that would create. They already had one child who was hanging out with "rock stars," smoking, and not living up to the rest of their stubborn expectations. Sam was already on the watch-list. No need to add "stripper" to the strikes already against him.

"Okay, I understand. I won't say anything," Rachel replied, nodding.

"Thank you," he breathed in relief.

"Is this where you guys give the private dances?" she asked, looking around at the black and silver room.

He rubbed his bare bicep uncomfortably. "Yeah..."

"The color scheme is really unoriginal. They should add some red."

Satisfied with her own assessment, Rachel let herself out through the curtains, giving Sam some time to brace himself for what was sure to be an awkward night.


End file.
